


a box of wood

by EilyenMay (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Historical, Historical Hetalia, ameripan - Freeform, what else.... idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9080230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/EilyenMay
Summary: In the warm evening of victory, American military personnel took on the challenge of rebuilding a nation halfway across the world. Sergeant Jones wants nothing more than to go home, but a certain young poet helps him understand the strange new world he has to construct from the ground up. Contains some 1940s era bigotry for realism.





	

On that afternoon of May 5th, 1948, Alfred stomped on the cigarette a little more than he usually would have. 

It had been but a week since the last letter, and of all things, it had carried sympathy. Brothers were good for play fights, real fights, and as someone who could bail you out of trouble with the folks. What brothers were not good for, was advising. And advice seemed to be all that he was getting from Ontario. 

‘I know that you must hate me for being home, Al, but it’s not to mean that I’m off the hook when it comes to the war. I still gotta talk to friends that I used to know that have changed. If there’s anything worse than dying in a war, it’s living to only have your friends gone.’

But they weren’t friends, Matthew and him. If friendship was defined by laughter and shared memory, that is. Friendship could also mean talking only through writing and occasionally mentioning how they might meet at Christmas, in which case they were inseparable chums. All Alfred had of his was a box of letters, half of which were ramblings that ended midway. Mostly from Sicily. 

‘Just know that you’re doing some great work. Someday, you’re gonna look back at the history books and think, man, I was there! If I could cosy up to the superiors and join ya by faking a Brooklyn accent, God help me, I would.’

Matthew was much louder in his letters than he was in person. 

“Jones! You got a second, or are ya still snivelling?”

The letter was shoved into the single unabused pocket of his uniform, and the corporal stood up. His legs gave a good scream, having accustomed themselves to that crouching position. A little straightening of the shirt, and tightening of the belt, and the illusion of bravery had been created. “What’s the deal, Rusin?”

Harold Rusin was a 'friend' friend. The friend that was around since boot camp, and present with him on three out of four major operations he’d been on. In fact, so much of a friend that they consistently greeted each other with nicknames like ‘active duty’. It was odd, though, that Al was 26 and Harry was nearing 38. These were the things you just didn’t think about.

“So, Sergeant Jones. Where are you stationed?”

Al smirked. It was all good to have privates address you, but when a fellow of a higher rank did, then it really meant something, even if the difference was a single step. 

“I’m here in front of the residence hall for a reason, aren’t I? I’m staying right here in Mito.”

The city was something that even the worst of people couldn’t complain about. The GIs that had worked on the city had already cleaned it up so much since August that it looked like a smaller town that you’d find in the States, somewhere. 

“You really don’t know how lucky you’re,” said Harry. “No more travelling for you.”

A rueful smile. There’s no doubt that staying in one place, and sleeping at that same place was pretty much all that a soldier of that time wanted. But he was young and fit, and to end his prison sentence of fighting in the Pacific Theater with anything but going home was cruel. A little bit of excitement was all he wanted. The pure kind of excitement that people actually survived. 

This copycat of home would have to do.

“Have you already met any of the GIs here?”

The younger didn’t really want to admit that there was a reason for his isolation, but there most certainly was. If anything, he was scared to approach those like him. Scared that the second they saw him, they would look him deep in the eye, and tell them a small fraction of the things that they’ve seen in Japan. And that would be enough to put the fear of God right up his ass. 

“I haven’t had a chance,” he mumbled. “Have you?”

He nodded. “Just a couple. Much younger than me. Around your age, actually. Nice guys, but pretty tuckered out.”

There had been a misunderstanding, initially, that the new batch was going to totally, or at least, mostly replace the old batch of GIs, but the majority of them would be working together. Some men were lucky enough to go back to their families, and some unlucky enough to continue here for another year. 

The road the two stood on began to breathe with carbon monoxide. 

“The jeeps are comin’,” observed Harry. “See, this is the kind of bullshit that they do. Can’t even let us have a pleasant conversation around here.”

“But orders are orders. If I gotta go, I gotta go.”

“You’re sounding exactly like a Sergeant, you know.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it, and clamped Alfred on the shoulder. “It’s only good in small doses.”

Strange, that after that, he immediately heeded the orders not given, and left Alfred alone to talk to his own squadron. It was infuriating, but if anything, it was also an opportunity to look around without having to hear mindless blabber. 

This kind of scene only served to show how flat and big the world was. There was no dancing of the ground, just plains. And on said plains, the garbage and rubble that lined some parts of the city were slowly but surely dripping away. Whatever land remained was immediately used to grow a little something. It was as if winter would be here in the next few months, and no one wanted to take chances. 

“Oy! Foster, is that you?”

Dad always did say that the most important habit in life was stopping to smell the daisies. Alfred had then pointed out that it was ‘smell the roses’ after which his father had said, “There’s a lot of flowers in the world that smell nice.”

And the jeep that had descended was part flower garden and part trash pile. There were Gordon and Bert from Okinawa, the latter only one armed, and there was also Frank. Frank Waters was just the typical jerkass who God seemed to have in his good books. He’d survived Tarawa and Iwo Jima, and would never let you forget it. Alfred hobbled up to the slowing car.

“Don’t tell me y’all are in Mito too!” He could feel a grin. 

“Only Bert is. We’re both in Tokyo.”

Alfred wondered if Tokyo would’ve been nicer. He heard that the bombs fucked up most of that city, but surely the Yanks had had good progress on fixing up the place. It couldn’t be bad enough to warrant such an expression from Gordon, the sunshine man, rivalled only by Al himself. But maybe Frank was the reason for that. 

Bert was a nice guy. He was the type that was always around, always ready to cover you, even if there was never any orders given. And, to clarify, it was almost always needed. So the whole ‘creep’ role had been squandered. Bert was not a creep. He just never talked. 

Even now, his stubbly chin was turned away, light eyelashes flickering a little faster than usual. 

“Got your role yet?” asked Frank, nearly leaning off the jeep. “You were a mechanic, before the war, right? You’re probably going to work on tech.”

Great how that went from a question to an answer to the same question. Frank didn’t even need other people to finish his conversations. A relatively innocent joke that used to float around at camp was that he’d never get a lady. The ‘finishing each other’s sentences’ trope would never work for him and his girl. 

“Yeah, there aren’t too many options for me here.”

“You know Japanese?” asked Gordon, his mouth a perfect ‘o’. 

Well, he had a dictionary, so that had to count for something. None of them had received much Japanese education aside from a couple of words such as ‘attack’ and the ‘banzai’. For better or worse, Alfred nodded quite quickly. He could surely get by on the few phrases he knew, such as 'I'm American', and 'I don't speak Japanese'. 

“What are you just standing there for anyways? Don’t you have some hardass to listen to?”

The blonde shrugged. “The updogs are somewhere talking about big business. We cruds gotta stay right here for the day.”

Frank looked so hurt, so suddenly, that a bullet could be heard. “Dear God, war really does change people. What the fuck’s the matter with you, Jones?”

“Aren’t you the wild child who stole a roll of toilet paper from the Warrant Officer’s bath?” added Gordon.

Yeah, that was most certainly him. “What should I be doing?”

The nicer of the two he was talking to grinned. “Frank and I’ll be out of Province Kantou tomorrow. Come on bud, live! Check out the city with us!”

What sort of heartless being could say no to those sparkling brown eyes and fucked up nose?

\---

Even for a city that was planned by the States, there was no joy found in riding across. The windy dream of Americana was lost in the boiling sun and the sad eyed populace. Kids that would sit on the roadsides said nothing, and just wistfully stared at the backs of the soldiers that were in their big jeeps. 

Despite this, as was their way, the boys would laugh at nothing occasionally, as if there was a joke passing around that no one could hear. Alfred was offered a stick of gum, which he declined, and took out his own supply. The staple of the GI. 

The pursuit of happiness gig could only go on for so long before the boys were forced to admit that there was nothing of interest around. “Aren’t I excited about staying here,” mumbled Alfred. 

Gordon, a mastermind foiled, wasn’t having any of his whining. “Listen. Half of this journey here has been the pals you made on the way. And the other half’ll be the same. Chin up.”

Alfred Foster Jones being told to chin up was hurtful. He massaged his head violently to get rid of the feeling and nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the pep.”

“Since our man is fluent in the ching chong, why don’t we test it out on some of the locals here?” Frank always had something to say to mess with a normal, if not pretty healthy conversation. The blonde protagonist of our story huffed. If he had to just exchange a few quick words; damn right, he’d make ‘em look stupid. 

A group of middle-aged ladies were stumbling along the road in a dazed hurry. Good subjects, because they looked like there were the least likely of anyone on that street to kick his ass if he said something offensive. 

“Excuse me!” he called. For a moment, it seemed that they wouldn’t stop, but the lady furthest from the road pulled her friends back slowly. 

Without a word, she raised her eyebrows. Even her eyes widened a little, but he couldn’t place why.

“Uh- good morning!” He exclaimed, even at a solid 5:32 PM. “Good evening!”

Surely the guys in the car were thinking that Alfred was giving some kind of speech. He pictured them with impressed looks, and decided that there wasn’t much more that needed to be said. 

Two of the three ladies scurried away along the road, calling out what sounded like the third’s name. “Junko! Come on!” was all that Al could recover, even though they appeared to have said far more.

The third woman looked at her retreating friends, as if considering joining them, and then turned to the Americans. “Good evening,” she replied, before heading their way at a much more relaxed pace. 

Well, wasn’t that an achievement! “Did ya hear that, fellas? She understood me.”

“You said some two words, Alfred. I’d be darned if she didn’t get it.”

Damn, could no one ever appreciate what he did? He hadn’t even got a medal for busting up that Japanese tea party going in one of the bushes at Guadalcanal. He swallowed back a nasty retort and gestured at Bert to keep driving. 

The lady was still looking at them, he noticed. If anything, with a little bit of curiosity. And he could appreciate that. He could understand if you wanted to throw stones, if you wanted to talk, if you wanted to flirt. This batch was quite a bunch of good guys. There was, of course, a rule that soldiers couldn’t go around ‘rationing’. But that had never stopped anybody. 

Gordon felt the need to make a couple more rounds of the city, just in case there was something interesting. What they found, were a couple of market stalls selling fruits or so, and occasionally a band of ragtag male students that look ready to fight the Americans. 

“I think I’m gonna go home now,” noted Alfred. This entire day, and this entire place had been too much for him. 

“I wanna buy some fruit,” said Gordie.

There was definitely a desperation in his voice. A desperation to make their gathering worth a little more than just Alfred speaking Japanese. 

Perhaps it was an exceptionally fortunate day, but there was a little fruit stand there for him to change the topic to. An old lady with moles and pockmarks all over her face was fanning herself, her shadow making a stark black print on the ground. It was a far hotter day that the Americans had felt it. 

What she was selling wasn’t particularly appetising, just some variants on cherries, he supposed. Coming to a consensus, they decided that exploring on foot now was most likely better. At least the locals were no longer worried that they might be run over by a jeep. However, they were still understandably uncomfortable, as evidenced by the kids that scurried away.

The fruit seller was brave. She didn’t flinch. 

Thankfully, in the simple act of getting some fruit, no translator was required, so Alfred took some of the time he had been given to explore the nooks and crannies among the rebuilt houses. It was obvious that the restoration had been done with some urgency, but the structures were strong. It would take another carpet bombing to let these boys go.

When he’d gotten off the jeep, the sky had been a purplish pink, and by the time he’d wandered through the maze of homes that were retiring, it was a much darker blue. Having a flashlight around his waist, it wasn’t the dark that was the problem. It was the people that clearly didn’t want him around that were. 

It was bizarre. For 3 years, the Americans had been fucking around in Japan, so he’d hoped that he hadn’t become something new. He’d thought that the Japanese would think nothing of more Americans coming along. There was never any military action. The police were still mostly Japanese. What was there to be afraid of?

Either way, roaming around in a place that wasn’t home was not a good feeling. After crossing through a neighbourhood to the other side of the road, he decided to follow it back. Probably was a loop. Eventually, he’d find the jeep as he walked. 

The flashlight came to use much sooner than he expected. There were a long few minutes with no change at all in the sky, and then, it was as though a black cloud had descended on the world. The streetlights had come on, but their golden spheres of light were too weak for anything else than seeing the night bugs that wavered around them. 

It occurred to Alfred, in this elegant ambience, that he was hopelessly lost. 

Had he been anywhere but here, it would have been quite alright. Hell, even Germans spoke a little French. But this, was the middle of nowhere. And the middle of nowhere was full of people that shuttered their windows and boiled their lantern oil to nothing. This was a tragic circumstance. 

In the manner of a General Issue, he ducked into an alleyway, and decided that the only correct way to handle this situation was to do it after a smoke. Most of the alleyways stunk of alcohol, so it did take some soul searching to find the calm he was looking for. 

And when he lit a single cigarette, there was peace. 

Well, at least till the time that the shuttered doors behind him opened with a slam.

“Eh-” It’s a short, high pitched sound, too light to be from someone old, but too tired to be someone young. Alfred turned behind him, and the speaker seemed equally shaken. 

It was a girl. Perhaps in her late teens, at Alfred’s best guess. Sunken in eyes and cracking skin around the lips. Her jaw a little out of line with the rest of her. But regardless, she didn’t look as frightening as the Japs that didn’t like him. He quirked an eyebrow, something he understood to be quite a universal gesture. 

The door was immediately slammed on his face. 

Admittedly, he was generally prepared for a lot of things. As a soldier, if there was any time he needed to revert course and head over to a new place, he could pull it off. But this kind of awful rejection was maddening. Even worse, after months of having seen a girl, it had to be from the first he met. 

“Hey, wait! ‘Moment’!” He repeated the last in Japanese, just in case.

A pause, but in the dim light of his cigarette, he knew that she was close enough to hear him. And she wasn’t moving. 

Another understanding. This time, it was unusually fulfilling. 

The door opened just a crack, revealing a little more of the house’s interiors. It’s very plainly furnished, with some sort of table in the corner, and a small vase with sticks of incense, long burnt away. The white walls were chipping as they came closer to the ground, but all in all, it was a better furnishing than the barracks they received.

A single eye, bags and all, and the body crouching below its height. 

“Yes?” said she.

With this, he was painfully reminded that he really did not know how to carry anything on beyond this. Sure, he could talk about the weather, knew the words for the different directions, and what Japs shouted before there was an attack. All military rubbish, and none of it was useful now. He felt painfully stupid. 

“Because what- were you here?”

Granted, he was not clear in his expression, he'd forgotten a few of the particles, but judging by the lack of- well, shock, he assumed that the message had gotten across. He tried to stand up a bit more like the quintessential American gentleman. 

She flinched and retreated further into her room. 

"Excuse me!" He called out. "Please!" 

The way she had scuffled, had in fact revealed a lot more of her. She wore the same kind of dress that an American lady would; green, wth puffy sleeves and a loose skirt. The hem was a bit flatter, and the bobbed hair not nearly as bouncy, but it was something to be noticed. Maybe a parlor visit and she’d fit right in with the dollies back home. 

Back home across the Pacific. 

By now, she was close, but not much friendlier. Keeping her large, black eyes on him, she made a hand gesture that looked somewhat like smoking. Then she pointed upwards, made a fist, and coughed into it. 

“Mom,” she mentioned, and Alfred understood. As if it was out of his control, his hand dropped the thing and his foot killed it for good. He gave her a smile. 

And for all the garbage he’d been through today, she smiled too, and he was alright. 

With this, she seemed satisfied in her duty, and Alfred didn't know if there was anything else to be said on his side either. He could pry and ask more about her, as some kind of information about the place. But how. It would be like interacting with a cat. He could convey a small message across, but what more than that. He couldn't talk.

"Wait!" The thought and the spoken word were simultaneous. "Moment!"

She blinked at the repeated phrase. It was possibly something that he was getting quite wrong, judging by her surprise at it, but this was not the time to think about grammar. 

He had forgotten that he was lost, and needed to find his way home. At least now, he could use the military lingo that he’d been forced to jam into that cemented skull of his. “American military base. See it?”

She craned her neck in a bit closer to him; the closest, it seemed, she was willing to go. “I don’t understand.” 

“You see military base here? America military base?” He repeated, in a voice a bit too singsong.The last thing he wanted to do at the end of all this was offend her with his speech.

She took a moment to look away, across to the side, her eyes moving from left to right as if she were reading something. Her head was bent. Was this some kind of subservient gesture? Was it just her mannerism, or that of the nation? Either way, it was making him worry like his mother would. For God’s sake, he didn’t need this night to be more unfamiliar than it was.

“Camp, yes,” said the girl. Well, she spoke so quickly that those were the two words that he could catch. But she seemed to look at him with a sort of brightness that wasn’t there before. She stood straighter, and stared at him right in the- well, not really in the eye, but the chest. That was more than enough to know that she wasn’t too scared. 

“Take there?” He managed, wondering if she’d be amused. Alfred himself would’ve found it hilarious if some foreigners had gotten lost in his hometown. Especially after jackhammering their way in. 

No muscle on her face moved, but she nodded, and pushed her screen door a little aside.

“Follow, please.”

The Japanese girl headed in the direction of the road, and Alfred decided that his last choice was to follow her. Wherever she would take him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for choosing to read this fic! I tried to base it as far off history as I could. Some Japanese women did indeed fall in love with American soldiers stationed there post WW2. A wave of Occidentalism spread in Japan in the last few years of the forties and throughout the fifties. However, my number one priority with this fic is to not romanticise the Occupation of Japan. It was not always a beautiful time, and not every Japanese woman had a pleasant encounter with the Americans. 
> 
> Even in the worst of times though, some beautiful stories do make it.


End file.
